


A Fine Young Mage

by Schemilix



Series: Blood and Gold [10]
Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/Schemilix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a suggestion on how our good friend Cletienne weaselled his way into the Temple Knights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Young Mage

Cletienne is a fine young mage, some say too fine. He wears the white robes but casts also from the black. As much skin as he knits he roasts, for every life brought back from the brink another is in its place.

Perhaps if he were the superstitious sort he would have said that the trade-off were only natural. A life for a life. The natural order.

In truth, though, he doesn't care. Burnt flesh and hair stink. That's as far as it goes.

 

The fine young mage finds a Templar at his doorstep in the morning, like one might expect milk. Gold armour glinting in the sunlight, and a face shadowed under a hood despite the bright morning.

"Cletienne Duroi," the man intones, saluting without much enthusiasm. "I have been sent on behalf of the Templarate. Word of a prodigal mage has reached us - a mage with interest in our order. I have been sent to see as well as hear."

His voice is low and library-hushed, measured. It takes a moment before Cletienne thinks to invite the man in, or even nod.  
"Out here will do," the Templar says, shaking his cowled head. "If you're willing, else I shall go."

If Cletienne recalls, the Templarate do not mince their words... 

"Ser," he starts, then, "...very well." A demonstration, then. He steps outside after taking his robe from the hook on his way past. The magick woven into it crackles in a way only he can detect. 

His garden is not large - and not fireproof. Nonetheless he clasps his hands. 

"There is little I don't know, ser. What do you wish to see?" he asks. The Templar considers. Like as not he knows little of magick - the channelling arts seem endemic to the order but otherwise it's all parlour tricks to them, surely.  
"Show me, Duroi, how you would subdue a demon," says the knight, flatly, and it makes Cletienne blink. These knights certainly have their priorities sorted. 

Of course, Cletienne knows how to handle a demon. But he shouldn't - nobody should. What this man expects is some pyrotechnicks, maybe a spell from his jaunt as a Mystic. Nothing efficient. He does that, careful not to burn his lawn, then looks aside, smiling what he has been told is a very winning smile.

"I expected," the knight says, "better from you, Duroi. Show me what you would actually do."

Cletienne's jaw tightens. He may look young but being patronised by a meat-headed swordarm isn't acceptable. 

"I did, ser."

"You did not, _ser_." 

Frowning, Cletienne shakes his head, "I am not part of your order, why would I know?"

"Because of the books you read, boy," the Templar says, still as bland as if he were discussing chocobo maintenance or laundry, "Treat me like a fool and I will treat you like one. The Templarate do not seek any young fool with magical potential."

"You have come to arrest me!" Cletienne declares, and steps away sharply, drawing his robe about him. "Why this game, then? Cruel of you, ser, but I have done nothing. My neighbours accuse me of sorcery, do they?"

At this outburst the Templar seems to consider a smile, but evidently decides against it. Instead he watches Cletienne closely and then steps forward abruptly. When Cletienne refuses to jump he looks him in the eyes and says,

"Look here. What do you see? My kind hear the whispers you tell your books at night, know of the pacts you have made and will make. Tell me what you see in my eyes. Answer correctly, Cletienne Duroi, or I will kill you," he says, quiet as a knife. Cletienne knows better than to look away when he hears the metallic-shimmering sound of an enchanted blade being drawn. That doesn't bother him - he is far too talented to let a sword intimidate him - but there is a prickle like old, forbidden books, and that prickle has him pause. 

He lifts his chin, and with a laugh he says, "I see a demon, ser. What else?"

"Good. Show me how you would expel a demon. And not on me, if you please," the demon says, still unsmiling. Cletienne shows him, shows him demon-magic - fight fire with fire - and then folds his arms, looking expectantly at him.

"I will join your order, yes?" he says, not asks. 

"Provided you keep your questions to yourself until we get there, yes."

Cletienne nods, not excited at the inevitable. Greatness comes to those who dare. He adjusts his robe as the Templar makes to leave. Needless to say he will not be allowed to leave this man's sight with the secrets he has...  
"On one condition, however."

"Yes, Duroi?" 

"Your name."

The Templar really thinks about smiling, and he does, just with his eyes. 

"Very well. I am Loffrey Wodring. Now come with me. I am tasked with making a knight of you."


End file.
